


Busy Night, Lazy Morning

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Edelbert Week 2020, F/M, Fluff, Post-Time Skip, Post-War, Sleep, Tenderness, this is probably so ooc but i dont give a fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: Edelgard finds it hard to fight sleep after Fodlan's unification, luckily Hubert has all the time and patience in the world.A special upload for Edelbert week, day 1: sleepless!
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	Busy Night, Lazy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> happy edelbert week!! first off no one at me i still havent played cf i just caught feelings for them from my buddy taz. this piece was actually written for my friend taz, based on some of her art work. it's a little off kilter for the prompt but i dont... really care its more food bruh. you can see taz's lovely art here: (https://hiimtaz.tumblr.com/post/190457220082/lazy-morning#notes), and she's also working on edelbert week so please, give her some love!! i dont know anyone who loves this ship more than her.  
> i'll see y'all again on thursday...  
> as always, thanks for reading ❤❤❤

Edelgard, as always, falls asleep before Hubert does.

The body that betrays her, moulded by other’s hands, demands rest. Softly, she feels herself fighting it, her eyes flickering up between moments or hours (she cannot tell). The velvet back of the chair supports her, her hands slipping from the quill and pen on the table and into her lap. They graze the chiffon of her gown, rousing her every time she wakes.

For a moment, her eyes focus on the documents before her. Some memorandum that Ferdinand had sent, a request from Dorothea and Manuela for funds to build a new wing on the Mittelfrank Opera House, a note from Linhardt asking for a moment to research her crests... then, the subject of so many other busy evenings: how to deal with the unification of Fódlan. 

Hubert had suggested to glimpse over smaller notes, from the neighbouring Houses, et cetera. But the large document that weighed down the entire desk only served to vex Edelgard further and further.

She looks at an envelope marked from Garreg Mach. The Emperor flicks it away, wishing not to think of that place for the moment. It could be the Professor, whom she owed a great debt to; but it could be another sprawling thank you letter from that Dominic girl that would go on for pages upon pages. Edelgard does not have the attention span for something so...  _ trivial _ right now. But she doesn’t have the mind for anything so heavy either.

Sleep begins to take her again, her head drooping against her shoulder blade as she dozes again. 

“My lady.”

Her lashes flutter open. Her voice is hoarse. “Hubert,”

“You should rest.”

“We’ve work to do.”

“The work may wait, my lady. I am certain I can complete some on my own.”

“No.” Edelgard says, a little sharper than normal. She slides upper further in the chair. “I simply need a moment, then we may push forwards.”

“Your will is iron clad as usual.”

“No. It is made of steel.” She corrects, clearing her throat softly.

She catches the corners of his lips smirking almost, a rare treat. She watches as he prepares her acup of tea, and for himself, a cup of coffee. He sets a teacup before her, then takes a seat across the work desk. “Seems you have read my mind.” She murmurs softly.

“Sometimes it is very easy to.”

“And other times?”

Hubert’s eyes flicker up from the papers. “Other times you elude me.” He says.

She fights a smile, bringing her tea cup to her lips. She glances out the window, to the balcony into the dark night. For a moment, she remembers the night prior, when she had stood outside and stared at the moon.

He had joined her, ever at her side, watching the edges of his estate. In secret, she had taken glimpses at him, looking at the curve of his jaw, the sharp slopes of his cheekbones, the hook of his nose and the eyes that ever watch over her. Her eyes flickered down his arm and to his hand which perched upon the marble railing. 

And in soft secret, while staring down at the bushes of sword lilies that his servants attended to with intense care, she let her hand graze his tenderly. Pulling away slightly, then a moment later, felt his spindly fingers slide over the back of her hand and slip between her fingers.

She had cherished that moment dearly all day. And when she shuts her eyes and dozes for a moment she dreams of it. Sometimes she dreams of him, in a different life, one not so cruel and ruthless.

Hubert’s gaze flickers to hers for a moment. He lifts his cup of coffee to his lips and Edelgard looks elsewhere. Her eyes land upon the crystal vase of sword lilies on the edge of the desk by him. They are in full bloom, the petals a soft pink from the budding centre and turning brighter and brighter as they spread to the edges. She gazes at the flowering buds, a favourite of hers since she was a child.

“Hubert, why do you keep those flowers around?” She asks.

“Because you enjoy them, my lady. And you commanded me to bring you flowers when we first met.”

“Is everything you do to please me?”

“I swore to follow you until the ends of the earth.” He says. “And to fulfill any wish you have.”

Softly, she laughs. “And you think that comes from flowers?”

“It works. You are smiling now.” He says. “Even the smallest bit of your happiness is enough for me.”

She fights a flush, turning her eyes back to the papers before her, sifting through several letters from Bernadetta, repeatedly saying that she was not suited for such a position as Countess of Varley territory. The Countess’s letter is terribly dry, the constant repetition that she only wishes to write and craft, not to barter and manage pulling her back into slumber. Edelgard’s head droops forwards, pulled again into sleep. So soft, so gentle, for a moment she dreams of him.

The grandfather clock chimes loudly. One in the morning, she blinks blearily, sighing again.

“My lady, I insist you rest.” Hubert says, removing his cloak to lay over her shoulders.

“And I insist that I work further.” She replies, trying to shift away from the garment. She frowns when it weighs heavy on her shoulders.

“Then allow me to at least make you more comfortable, my lady.” He says, almost pleading.

She stays silent, moving her back from the cushions so that the cloak may comfortably fall over her shoulders and down her back. His fingers graze her shoulder, then along her ear, removing her crown of horns and settling it gingerly on the desk before them. Gently, he removes clips from her buns, releasing the grip on her hair so that it falls down over her shoulders.

“You know Hubert, your presence relieves me.” She says softly.

“I am aware. And as does yours the same to me.” He replies, just as quiet.

She dares to lean against his working hands, the dry backs of his hands that have done so many foul things in her name. Edelgard feels his fingers, gently pull through the strands of her hair before he looks away. As he moves his hand, she feels herself pulling back into sleep.

“My lady—“

“I can still work Hubert.” Edelgard insists, reaching for Bernadetta’s thick letter.

“Edelgard.” He says a little louder. Her gaze flickers to him. “You need to rest. Now.”

“Then I’m afraid that you will have to make me.” The Emperor says.

Wordlessly, Hubert pulls back her chair and leans close. “Lady Edelgard, I am begging you. Please, rest.”

“As long as you rest with me.” She says sternly. “And only for a moment. We’ve too much work to do.”

“As you wish.”

She relents, slowly getting to her feet and peeling off his cloak. She hands it back to him, before retreating to the bed. He takes her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and pulling her towards the bed. She curls against him, taking comfort in his strong grasp about her arms.

Edelgard curls into his chest, her arms stretching out to embrace him back as she melts into the blankets and pillows.

“Wake me in an hour.” She tells him. 

“Of course.” He says, and she knows it is a lie; that he will not.

But as she focuses on the linen of his shirt, she feels warmth bloom in her cheeks. She’s blushing, a feat she’d thought she was unable to do for sometime. Seems this body was not as...  _ shattered _ as she thought it was.

She listens to Hubert’s soft measured breathing, focusing on the few scars that mark his neck—a price of using dark magic. Her eyes linger at the pale marks across his skin, always hidden from her eyes; perhaps that she may not worry, perhaps that he may not become self-conscious. She is unsure of which is the truth.

She feels his hand on the small of her back, gently holding her to his chest. She presses her forehead against his collarbone, as if touch will erase all the scars he has gained from her plans, from her will.

But as she hears Hubert whisper for her to sleep, Edelgard begins to drift off into slumber. Her fingers loosely brush against his back as her muscles relax and her mind wanders to places unknown.

Perhaps they do deserve rest, it has been a busy night after all.

* * *

Hubert, as always, wakes before Edelgard does. 

Morning sunlight beams through the windows, turning everything in it’s way a stark white that hurts the eyes. The desk, covered in papers and maps and piled with duties and responsibilities is covered in the sun. From the balcony outwards, along the railing, is ivy that grows over and over again, thick and along the side of Marquis Vestra’s manor. 

He, the Marquis Vestra. His father is dear and departed. Perhaps not dear but certainly the latter; and for such devotion, Vestra became a march instead of a county. 

_ For you shall always defend me, clear as day.  _ Edelgard had said after the death of his father. Aymr weighed heavy upon his shoulders as she blessed him in a knightly fashion. 

His eyes still blurry with sleep, Hubert glances around, taking in those duties upon his desk. A vase of fine sword lilies sits proudly a top—a favourite of the Emperor and by result a favourite of his. The soft bone-coloured petals of the flowers remind him of her hair. 

He can almost see her in that chair, as she was last night. The only way he could get her to rest was by picking her up himself and pulling her back to bed. And shockingly, she had allowed him to do and stayed curled into his chest all night. So warm with her, he did not need the comfort of sheets over his cold body that night. 

Edelgard’s face is curled into his collarbone, her breath soft against the thin linen of his shirt. His fingers graze the soft curve of her back, weighted down with the heaviness of the Empire. Likewise, her hands loosely curl into his shoulder blades, carrying the hidden and underhanded deed that she does not see. Ones that he will not let her see. 

Her hair splays off her back and onto the mattress, over the side of the bed. It is like soft silk against the callouses of his hands. The tip of his nose grazes her scalp, taking in her soft perfume and her warmth. 

How long has it been since they had woken together? He recalls a moment when they were fairly young, when Edelgard had insisted to nap. With his father’s warnings in his ears, he stayed stock still so the scion could rest. 

The other memory he has of this, was when they were about 6 and 9. Edelgard’s rationale was to see if Hubert was trustworthy enough. 

“I could care less what Father has to say about your house.” Edelgard had said sharply. “I will judge your trust by my standards. If I can rest soundly in your presence, then I will trust you. If not, I will find another vassal.”

Young, but not immature, Hubert knew what she meant. He stayed silent, simply watching a rainstorm that pelted down outside. In the chair beside him, slowly, Edelgard had fallen asleep onto his shoulder. And as before, he stayed still, only stealing a glimpse at her face a moment later. 

Hubert opens his eyes a little to steal a glance at her face. Her eyes are softly shut, lashes long and turning darker in colour. He smiles a little, the simple sight of her hair beginning to darken fills him with ravenous joy that he surprises behind thin lips. This body they ruined, this body that betrayed her, will be returned to her with due time and care. And every moment, every step of the way, Hubert silently vows to be there. 

The slope of her nose casts a soft shadow on her lips, pale pink and turned up at the edges. She is dreaming, perhaps of the day where Fódlan is finally one—not by empirical decree but by  _ choice _ . When people of Faerghus and Leicester and Adrestia are no longer divided but now one. 

His are not so grand. He dreams only of her happiness, her love. And on occasion, perhaps of shoving a certain prime minister into a fountain. 

But now he does not dream of such things. He slowly moves his hand to touch the side of a soft cheek. In her sleep, Edelgard softly sighs and moves closer to his touch. Her hands spread and grip tighter around his back. 

He feels a flush of heat and hears a gentle knock at the main door. The servants, probably checking if they have woken. By the height of the sun, it is already early morning. There is very little time to be lazy now. Hubert stays silent and thinks of all the work that needs to be done: assimilation of Leicester and Faerghus, healthcare for the wounded, rations to be doled out and mediating the friction between different houses... The list is as long as his cloak that waits for him. The heavy shackles of duty that he bears all so willingly for her. 

Hubert glimpses down at Edelgard in his arms. So soft and gentle she is now. He hears the footsteps of the servants retreating away and giving them another moment of peace. Softly, and mostly to himself (he will deny it should Edelgard wake up and tease him in her lovely voice) he smiles and gingerly places a kiss onto her head. 

Perhaps they do deserve rest, perhaps it will be a lazy morning. 


End file.
